


Back to life

by poeticeclipse



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Fluff, Teensy bit of ick and angst, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 16:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticeclipse/pseuds/poeticeclipse
Summary: Nzumbi: a Kimbundu–Portuguese dictionary defines it as being a "spirit that is supposed to wander the earth to torment the living"...Unfortunately for Ryan, Jim is that nzumbi, and he is that living.





	Back to life

He can't feel his heartbeat. He stares at the little mirror above the bathroom sink, horrified. He can't feel his heartbeat and his skin is cold. His face watches, blinking from the mirror, a blueish grey hue. Aside from the coloring he looks the same as he did before he died. Died. Oh God. He remembers dying. The panic of his heart stopping. But here he is, alive, despite not having a heartbeat. Looking around the bathroom he's in, no idea how he got here, his eyes land on a worn leather bound book resting on the sink edge. 'Nzumbi's guide to life X duex' he sits down hard on the toilet lid. This has got to be some sort of sick joke, he thinks reaching for the book and flipping it open.   
'Congratulations on your undead death!' it happily proclaims.

He snaps it shut reeling. Standing he looks in the mirror again, gives his cheek a poke. "This is real," he whispers. "This is all real." He looks in the mirror at the door behind him. Trembling he twists the knob pushing it open. He's not sure what he expected but it's not the seemingly normal apartment hes faced with. Taking a cautious step forward he calls out hesitantly. "Hello?" Nothing. He steps further in. It looks lived in nothing unnatural or supernatural, although empty. He wanders around slowly, no pictures or mail laying around to provide information about who might live here. The leather bound book feels heavy in his hand. as much as he dreads opening it he has to know what's going on. He takes a seat on the couch and begins to read.

***  
It's late in the day, Jim stares out the window at the golden light staining the pavement, still trying to absorb the information he's read.   
Behind him the front door rattles making him jump. It swings open and Ryan Howard steps through. His eyes land on Jim by the window. He doesn't stop screaming for a long time.

"Ryan?" He says in disbelief. He's actually terribly relived to see a familiar face. "You're dead, Halpert."  
"Undead, actually."  
"No, I was at your funeral." He says pacing, grabbing at his hair.   
"Well, I'm here now." He shrugs.  
"Well, leave!" He shouts "Get out!" He's hysterical.   
"I can't."  
"What do you mean you can't."  
"According to the book, I'm randomly assigned a host, someone I knew from my previous life," he pauses. "That's you. And we're tied together now and I can't leave."  
Ryan sits down hard, breathing raggedly. "What book?"  
Jim hands it to him. His finger traces over the title. "Zombie."  
He whispers hoarsely.   
Jim nods sitting on the coffee table in front of him.   
He flips through the pages, color rapidly draining from his face. "I need a drink," he says suddenly, standing and shoving the book back at him.   
"Ryan,"  
"No." He grabs a bottle from the kitchen taking it back to his bedroom slamming the door.   
Jim sighs, curling up on the couch. This is gonna be a long death.

***  
Ryan ignores him the next morning, moving about the kitchen fixing coffee.   
"C'mon, man talk to me."  
"Oh, are you still here?"  
"You know I can't leave."  
His spoon clatters in the sink.   
Bracing his hands on the counter he breathes.   
"I'm sorry," Jim says softly.   
Ryan takes a deep breath turning "Zombie, huh."  
Jim nods "Not exactly like in the movies," he says. Running a hand down his slacks.

"Least you're not too bad to look at," he remarks dryly, grappling for something to say because, holy crap Jim is supposed to be dead.

Jim bats his lashes at him "Flirt."

"Unfortunately your personality is still intact," he snorts.

"Lucky you."

***  
It's not an easy adjustment by any means but they at least try not to constantly be at each others throat.   
They're both still reeling from the shock of it all.   
The first major snag comes a few days in, when Jim is beginning to look more sunken and grey.   
According to the book he needs raw flesh.   
It can be animal but it has to be fresh, if he doesn't eat he'll start to show signs of decomposition that may be permanent.  
Ryan came up with a solution to trap some of the raccoons or possums that like to frequent the dumpster in the alley behind his apartment, Jim gets his sustenance and the animals won't be missed, not that that stops him from wussing out.   
"You're getting weaker," Ryan argues.   
"I can't," he whimpers.  
"You ate meat before and I didn't see you writing any apologies to the cow."  
"That's different and you know it I didn't have to kill and butcher it myself."  
"So, what? You're just gonna rot?"  
He turns away from him facing the couch cushions.   
"I don't believe you, Halpert!" he shouts snatching his coat and slamming the door.

***  
He stands in the alley fuming. He's so, so angry at Jim for putting him in this position. He can't bring himself to kill a stupid animal-never mind how his own hands are shaking- so he'd rather waste away on Ryan's couch.

Ryan is decidedly not going to spend the rest of his life staring down a decomposing Jim. He takes a steadying breath and moves in on the animal.

***  
Trudging up the dingy stairs from the alley, blood on his hands and shirt, he pushes into the apartment. Jim casts an eye towards him from where he lays on the couch. His mouth opens slightly, he didn't think Ryan would really do it for him. Ryan ignors him, jaw clenched he moves to the kitchen.   
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"Jim croaks to him from the living room.   
"Just be quiet and let me concentrate," Ryan says sounding old and tired. He's never actually killed anything larger than a spider and he has no clue what to do with this nasty thing. He has the absent hysterical thought that it's something he'll have to learn since Jim is apparently useless at this whole thing. Realizing he'll have to skin it he carries it to the bathroom setting it in the tub. It's vile. The sight, the sound of the knife cutting away. He feels bile burn the back of his throat and has to stop to lean over the toilet for a second time. Flushing, he wipes his nose coughing into his elbow. He looks at the gory remains in the tub. Jim can bag it up and wash out the bath when hes strong enough. It's the least he can do. Picking out the larger portions of meat he takes it back to the kitchen. He knows there's no way Jim would willingly eat it as is. He eyes his blender sighing. Even in 'death' Jim Halpert is a thorn in his side.

Pouring from the blender the massacred concoction plops wetly into a glass, frothy with a few thick lumps. He wants to vomit all over again. He cuts it with a v8 to make it more palatable. "Here." He stalks into the living room taking a seat on the coffee table. Jim struggles to sit up staring at the cup in terror. "I dont, I dont know if-

"Jim!" Ryan snaps. "You have to." Jim flinches and he softens. "You have to, okay." His hands tremble as he takes the glass. Ryan watches him carefully as he raises it to his lips, cringing. He takes a tentative sip suddenly he's acutely aware of his thirst tipping the cup back he guzzles desperately, the bloody cocktail slides from the corner of his mouth down his chin. He moans.  
Ryan wrinkles his nose at the display. "That's disgusting." "Yeah... the tomato juice helped though, thanks."  
"Yeah, I'm a regular Hannibal Lecter."  
He blinks a few times. "Don't get weepy on me, Halpert.   
"Don't know that I could."  
"Look, I know this is hard on you," he sighs. He's heard him moaning and groaning from nightmares late at night.   
Jim offers a half shrug. "It's just as hard on you."  
"Yeah, well...  
There's not much to say after that.   
They watch tv in silence.

Ryan notes later as they're getting ready for bed that Jim's complexion is back to how it was before and he can't help the sigh of relief that escapes him.

***  
Jim sits in a dining chair and stares out the window. He's feeling guilty. Ryan's at work right now and that only adds to it. They've fallen into a routine but it's incredibly lopsided. Ryan 'fixes' his meals, makes salvs for his stiff and aching joints-a process not much better than the meal prep- and goes to work. He comes in exhausted every night and Jim worries about him burning out or maybe even becoming depressed, not that he could blame him. He's made a promise to himself to help out more, cook some meals for Ryan in return, clean up, maybe he could even freelance from here. Still. He sighs again and his eyes wander the room landing on the leather bound guide on the bookcase. He gets an idea.

***  
Ryan comes home that night exhausted, he just wants to curl up in a ball and sleep. The thought derails as he walks into the living room to find a...a dog? Chewing his sneaker.  
"Jim!" he hollers sending the pup scampering behind a chair whimpering.   
He swears if Jim wasnt already dead he'd kill him.   
"Oh, good you're home," he says. Coming over to scoop up the dog. "What do you think?"  
"Get rid of it."  
"Ryan,"  
"Get rid of it!"  
"C'mon."  
"We're not keeping it."  
"Please. Look at him, man."  
He puts his face next to the dog's pouting.   
"Yeah, I see him, Jim. He's disgusting, okay."  
"Hey!" he says offended.   
"He looks like he was hit by a truck for crying out loud."  
Jim looks down at the little beagle, it's true he's not exactly a show dog with a torn ear, missing eye and a bit of exposed skull but, shoot what was he supposed to do with the poor thing now? They couldn't just turn it loose and he doesn't want to tell him but he can't exactly send it back. Ryan sighs looking to the ceiling and pinching the bridge of his nose.   
"I asked you, Jim. Asked you not to mess around with that book."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Yeah, you're sorry. You're always sorry.  
Sorry I have to slaughter animals for you, sorry have to make salvs for you, sorry you freaking ruined my life!" He's shouting, breath labouring he tugs at his hair.   
"Ryan, please," Jim begs. Reaching out a placating hand.   
"No! Don't!" His bedroom door echos from the slam.   
Jim sits on the couch hanging his head. The dog noses at his shoe whining. "Sorry, pup," he mutters numbly. Scooping it up he presses his face against its mangled fur. This is not how he wanted this to go.

***  
He feels the bed dip.  
"Ryan?"  
"What do you need, Jim," he asks tonelessly, staring at the wall.  
He feels a cool hand brush his arm.   
"I am sorry, Ry. Really sorry, I, I thought you'd like a dog since you know... He trails off remembering the dog Ryan had to rehome because of him.

Ryan takes a deep breath. He's not going to cry. Not about his dog, not about his life, not about anything anymore, it wasn't going to change anything anyway. He might have lost his dog, his girlfriend, his shot at a normal life, but hey, he's got Jim freaking Halpert! He thinks bitterly, cursing himself as his shoulders begin to shake. Jim's hand lingers on his arm before he stretches out behind him. He wraps his arms around him pressing a cold nose against his neck.  
He'd shove him off but hes too tired, too hurt. He hasn't been held like this since he had to break up with Kelly and he needs it. He feels like hes falling apart, everything's becoming too much. Jim's frigid hand rubs his back. "Please don't be upset," he murmurs against his shoulder. "I won't mess with incantations anymore. And I'll help out more I swear."  
He'll drown in this guilt he thinks, Ryan's body is taught with anxiety, he did that. Ryan's exhausted himself for his sake and he went and made it worse with the stupid dog.   
"Just be quiet so I can go to sleep," he sobs. "I just want to go to sleep."  
Jim nods pulling him against his chest, running his fingers through his hair.   
"Your hands are cold," he sniffs tiredly into his pillow.   
"Sorry," he murmurs but makes no move to stop.   
Eventually Ryan falls into an exhausted sleep where he blessedly dreams of nothing for once.

***  
Waking up to a zombie in his bed is new.   
As is the dead dog curled at his feet.   
"We're not all going to start sleeping in my bed," he tells the pup, who yawns and blinks at him. "C'mon," he grumbles pushing the blankets away. The dog trots after him to the kitchen. Rustling through the fridge he comes up with some leftover fried chicken. he shreds a piece offering the dog the bone. he supposes he'll need fresh meat as well but for now he gives a yip and wags his tail. It's kind of cute in a grotesque sort of way he decides dryly, patting it's head. it's fur, though gnarled, is surprisingly soft. he sits on the floor scratching its ear. Lost in thought he doesn't hear Jim shuffle in. He watches Ryan and the dog for a minute. "Whatcha gonna name him?" Ryan startles looking up at him. "Don't think you're off the hook, Jim," he says. "I know," he replies pulling out a dining chair sitting to watch the two of them. Ryan seems more rested he decides. He's glad. He wonders briefly if he'd let him back in his bed. he watches him scratch under the dogs chin.   
"Boris," he says eventually.  
"What?" He blinks.   
"His name," he nods towards the dog. "Boris."  
Jim smiles.

***  
Jim paces the livingroom. He's late, he thinks, looking at the clock on the wall. Dinner is in the oven keeping warm but Ryan hasn't shown up yet. he looks out the window, straightens the cushions, he's not worried he tells himself turning to pace the floor again.

He hears Ryan's key scratching the lock and stops.   
"Were have you been!?" He bursts out.   
Ryan looks at him tiredly, slinging his briefcase down.   
"Not now, Jim I have a killer headache, okay." He presses the heals of his palms to his eyes sighing.   
Jim takes in his haggard appearance, notes the scuffs and dirt on his shoes. "Were you out walking?"  
"Car broke down, alright," he mutters pushing past him to collapse in a dining chair.   
"I'm sorry," Jim says coming to stand behind him. He hesitates for a minute before his hands settle gently on his shoulders, working the kinks out. "You want some dinner?" He asks after awhile. "What is it?" He mumbles into the table.   
"That potato casserole you like." He drags his nails along his neck.   
Groaning he sits up. "Thanks, man," he says quietly, rubbing his eye.   
"Sure. You stay here I'll bring it and some painkillers."  
He blinks sluggishly. "K." Jim frowns at him in concern.

Sitting across from him he watches him eat.   
"Why don't you take tomorrow off," he suggests.   
"I'll have to with the car in the shop, I can't afford to take a cab." He pushes the potatoes around on his plate.   
Can't afford, Jim thinks. Because of him. Him and the dog.  
Ryan kicks his ankle. "Stop."  
"What?"  
"Stop feeling all guilty," he yawns.   
"I can't help it you didn't sign up for this."  
He snorts "Neither did you."  
"I know, but, when it happened I knew I was dying, I kinda made my peace with it, knew I wouldn't get the future I had planned but you, you didn't deserve to have your life upended."  
He sighs "it doesn't matter now, Jim, okay. it is what it is we'll just have to get through it together.   
"Yeah," Jim bumps his ankle.

He falls asleep on the couch after dinner, Boris curled by his side and Jim doesn't have it in him to wake him. He grabs the comforter from his room tucking it around him, watching his shoulders rise and fall, his breath gently puffing from between parted lips, a hand curled beneath his cheek. he carefully brushes a strand of hair from his forehead. "Sleep well, Ry," he whispers.

***  
Startlingly from a nightmare he throws the covers off and goes to check on Ryan. When he gets to the livingroom the couch is empty. Panicking he stumbles to his door pushing it open slowly. He leans against the door frame weak with relief when he finds him snoring softly in his bed. He sits beside him placing a hand on his chest counting his heartbeat letting his mind settle. Ryan shifts, blinking up at him. "What are you doing?" He doesn't know what to say, just keeps stroking his chest.  
"Jim?"  
"I just want to be with you."  
"I'm not gay, Jim."  
"I don't want to have sex with you," he says sliding a thumb along his jaw. "I just want to be with you."  
He shivers beneath his touch. "Okay," he whispers. He lets Jim climb in bed with him, let's him slide his hand beneath his shirt, up his back, let's him tug him to his chest, hold him.

***  
Jim watches Ryan. Tracing a finger down his nose. He's gorgeous. The sunlight filtering in lights his sleeping face in radiant gold hues, his mouth is parted slightly, the back of his clenched fist rests on the pillow by his head. He watches his chest rise and fall, reaching to tug his rucked up shirt down, his finger brushes against his belly making him frown and squirm away. Jim chuckles removing his hand. Ryan rolls over and blinks. "What time is it?" He mumbles groggily.   
"You're not going in today, remember?" Jim brushes his hair back. He hums stretching. "In that case be quiet I'm going back to sleep." He curls against Jim's chest. "Sure." He smiles wrapping an arm around him. He watches his lids flutter and thinks if he has to go through an afterlife with somebody he sure is glad it's Ryan.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated:)


End file.
